“He is singular in 'build,' as you call it,” returned Rose, laughing, “but, I can assure you that he is a most excellent fellow in his way—worth a dozen of Josh. Do you know, Harry, that I suspect he has strong feelings towards Captain Spike; though whether of like or dislike, friendship or enmity, I am at a loss to say.”
“And why do you think that he has any feeling at all? I have heard Spike say he left the fellow ashore, somewhere down on the Spanish Main, or in the Islands, quite twenty years since; but a sailor would scarce carry a grudge so long a time, for such a thing as that.”
“I do not know—but feeling there is, and much of it, too; though, whether hostile or friendly, I will not undertake to say.”
“I'll look to the chap, now you tell me this. It is a little odd, the manner in which he got on board us, taken in connection with the company he was in, and a discovery may be made. Here he is, however; and, as I keep the keys of the magazine, he can do us no great harm, unless he scuttles the brig.”
“Magazine! Is there such a thing here?”
“To be sure there is, and ammunition enough in it to keep eight carronades in lively conversation for a couple of hours.”
“A carronade is what you call a gun, is it not?”
“A piece of a one—being somewhat short, like your friend, Jack Tier, who is shaped a good deal like a carronade.”
Rose smiled—nay, half laughed, for Harry's pleasantries almost took the character of wit in her eyes, but she did not the less pursue her inquiries.
“Guns! And where are they, if they be on this vessel?”